


enough room for two

by poedameronvevo



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Episode: s01e04: Sanctuary, F/M, Keldabe Kiss, Missing Scene, Slice of Life, helmet kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poedameronvevo/pseuds/poedameronvevo
Summary: On Sorgan, the Mandalorian muses over a battle-scarred bowl of krill what a peaceful life would be like. Looking at Omera, a path farthest from the one he’s chosen becomes clearer than he’d ever imagined.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 36
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know everyone and their mom is writing a 'what happened in those weeks on Sorgan' fic, but I just thought 'eh, what the hell'. Plus, who else was going to throw a mandatory prequel meme in there?
> 
> I also know that Mando was open to Omera about his past and I could have had Omera return the trust here, but I just wanted to keep the fic as canon as possible.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little piece!

The last of the sun disappears into the trees, leaving the sky a bruised purple that’ll quickly fall into darkness. 

Din Djarin watches the child. 

He has gathered his usual crowd of on-lookers; all the other children, Winta leading the pack. The excitement of having a little green friend hasn’t died down yet.

Din doesn’t blame them. He hasn’t seen anything like this kid either. 

Winta throws the child a ball. _Five more minutes,_ Din tells himself. Then they both have to turn in, before dark. 

Exactly what he told himself five minutes ago.

“Knock, knock.”

Din turns and Omera comes into the barn with a bowl of food and a soft smile.

“You weren’t in the longhall for supper tonight. I thought you’d be hungry.”

“You don’t have to keep catering to me,” Din says over the traitorous growl of his stomach. He was going to go to the longhall soon anyway, just to see if they had leftovers he could bring back.

“You’re going to eat in the longhall then?” Omera’s smile turns sly. She places the bowl beside him. It’s full of the bioluminescent krill he has seen them farm, a deep red now that they’ve been boiled.

Point taken. “Thank you.”

Din watches Omera carefully. He knows he’s not easy conversation, prefers not to be, but the way Omera lingers like she’s waiting to be told to leave or—

“I’ll go check on the children.”

“You could stay,” Din says.

Omera looks back at him with wide eyes. If she had hoped he would say that, she certainly didn’t expect it.

“You can’t remove your helmet.”

Din looks across the room. “No.”

Omera follows his gaze and steps over to the window where the sounds of the children are loudest. She gives him another small, knowing smile before she watches the kids. Din watches her for a moment. The evening breeze plays softly with her hair.

Din pulls his helmet off and begins to eat.

He realizes halfway through his meal that this bowl was used for target practice earlier in the day. He snorts, amused, tracing his fingers around the blaster mark charred into the side. This one was lucky. Omera’s targets haven’t been.

“You repurpose a lot.”

“We told you we don’t have much here,” Omera says. “We’re simple people who live off the land.”

“Simple, huh? Don’t think you could salvage the ones you shot.”

Din hadn’t meant for it fall flat. Omera bristles and offers back nothing but silence. Instead of trying to salvage the joke, he stuffs more krill into his mouth.

He knows he had underestimated her—and this whole village—when he first took the job. She’s warm and kind and soft, but she commands the villagers’ loyalty and respect and she has also taken a blaster rifle and hit the repurposed frying pan dead center without missing a beat until she’s unloaded a whole cartridge. 

She’s a natural leader.

His eyes haven’t left her since that first practice.

“So, where’d you learn how to shoot like that?”

The curve of Omera’s cheek betrays nothing.

“We all have our secrets.”

“Yeah,” Din agrees. “I guess we do.”

“Have you gotten your signet yet? The armour on your shoulders is bare.”

Din raises his eyebrows.

“You know about Mandalorian culture?”

“Just a few things,” Omera says carefully.

“I suppose you learned that where you learned to handle a blaster rifle.”

Omera laughs and for a moment her resolve slips; she looks over, catching herself just in time to stare out the window, then at the floor as she apologizes. 

“Something like that,” she admits.

Din polishes off the last of the krill with a grin before fitting the helmet back over his head. 

She likes him. He can see it in her body language, how she’s turned towards him even though she keeps her eyes away, how she lingers in the barn before and after she brings him meals, and when she trails in after Winta when Winta wants to play with the kid. 

It makes his chest ache. Not as bad as taking the full brunt of a charging Mudhorn, but somehow worse. He’s taken back to happier times before the Mandalorian years, when he was with his own parents. Back when all he ever wanted was adventure, back when he thought there would be always a home to come back to.

He wants that for this kid. Sorgan isn’t half bad if you’re wanting to lay low and settle down.

The kid likes it here, Din can see that much. Din likes it here too. 

He thinks about waking up next to Omera every day, but it’s damn near impossible to imagine not having his blaster pistol at his thigh. 

Sorgan is perfect for the kid, but it’s no place for a Mandalorian.

“It’s getting late,” Omera says, collecting the empty bowl. “I’ve been spoiling Winta, letting her play until dark.”

“Yeah,” Din agrees, wondering if he’s been spoiling the kid too.

“Thank you—for letting me stay.” 

“I should be thanking you.”

“You know,” Omera pauses in the doorway, smiling softly again, “it wouldn’t be so difficult to repurpose this barn, make it a home. There’s enough room for two.”


	2. Chapter 2

“They’re not getting any better.” Din frowns, looking at the row of villagers as they fire at the makeshift targets. _Try to fire_ would be a better way to describe it. 

Cara snorts. 

“I’m sorry, you think they were just going to pick up a blaster and start shooting bullseyes?”

Din looks at Omera, who is doing exactly that. If anything, she seems to have dusted the rust from her skills.

Caben hits a pan that isn’t his, but Din supposes it’s progress.

“These things take time, Mando,” Cara says. “They’re farmers. Give them at least until the end of the week.”

Din sighs. Omera has told him that the Klatooinians raid the village every few weeks; their time is running out.

Cara laughs. “I’m sorry, whose idea was this again?” 

Din folds his arms over his chest and continues watching Omera.

She’s looking at him now—frowning, lowering the blaster rifle, striding towards him— _oh._

“You’re not impressed,” Omera says.

“Not really.”

A fiery defiance sparks in her eyes. It catches Din off-guard, the way she’s looking at him like a challenge.

“Duel me.”

Wait. _No._ “I didn’t mean you, I just meant—”

Omera shakes her head, handing back his blaster rifle.

Din groans. _Great._ “You really want this?”

Omera stretches her hand out. Din looks over at Cara, who offers nothing more than a shrug and a delighted smirk. _You did this to yourself._

Din reaches behind his back and pulls out one of his blaster pistols. He hands it over. He won’t back down from the fight if Omera doesn’t. _This is the way._

The sound of blaster fire ceases, the villagers stare with rapt attention.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen.” Cara saunters over. “I want a nice, clean duel.”

Din is sure she’s enjoying this—too much.

“Blasters set to stun,” he says, switching his from kill.

“Really? Would you like to show me how to do that too?” Omera teases, settling the blaster into her belt. 

Din snorts. She hadn’t seemed like the sarcastic type.

“That’s not what I—”

“Backs to each other,” Cara orders.

The smile slips from Omera’s face into something serious and they press up against each other, backs flush. His HUD beeps. Din inhales and lets it out slowly until he can’t feel his heart against his ribs.

“Five steps,” Cara says.

Din moves.

One. _Breathe._

Two. _Focus._

Three. Din’s fingers itch.

Four. He cracks his knuckles.

Five—

Din whips around, firing his pistol once. He barely registers Omera’s tuck and roll to avoid his shot before she fires back.

Omera’s first stun lands. Din is knocked clean off his feet, landing on his back with a wheeze that sucks all of the air from his lungs. His HUD flashes red, warning him of a target approaching. 

He groans and closes his eyes, lying his head back on the ground. Sometimes, _only sometimes_ , he thinks he might be getting too old for this.

Something taps lightly at his helmet. Din cracks one eye to see the kid hovering over him, blinking curiously. The kid coos.

“I’m alright,” Din says. The child seems appeased and looks away. At Omera, Din realizes when he looks too.

Cheers erupt around them.

Omera grins triumphantly over him. He takes her offered hand; her grip is stronger than he expected as she helps him up. 

“That experienced enough for you?” There’s a light behind her eyes now. Something that’s been there before Sorgan—before Winta—Din guesses. Something that she’s tempered with patience and kindness and peace over the years.

His HUD beeps a warning at him—his pulse is too erratic again, not effective for the situation. 

“Yeah,” he says dumbly. “Good shooting.”

Children giggle all around them. 

Later when Omera brings him his dinner, there’s a bounce to her step.

“So, you really don’t want to share with the class?” Din teases.

Omera smirks.

“Nope.” 

Din can’t stop thinking about the fire in her eyes earlier in the day, but whatever her history is, it’s something she wants buried. She chose Sorgan over it for a reason.

She stays and watches the children play while he eats. All they can talk about is how Winta’s mother beat a Mandalorian in a duel. Their excitement carries their voices into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was supposed to be a one shot, but... stuff happened. I have a few more ideas and snippets of moments on Sorgan that I'm working on now, but I hope you enjoyed this one! Omera is a bit different here but I just wanted to play with her past a bit.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s late, but the peaceful silence that usually settles over the village after dark hasn’t come yet, chased away with the sounds of victory. The AT-ST is still smoking, half submerged in one of the krill ponds. Another tower of smoke accompanies it now in the heart of the village. 

It’s not long until Winta comes bounding into the barn unannounced, Omera not far behind.

“Can he come dance? Please?” Winta asks, her brown eyes wide and imploring.

Din pauses, fingers resting on his wrist. The kid, sensing his impending freedom from the crib, looks up at him expectantly.

“Yes.” But he hasn’t forgotten the previous conversation with Omera about spoiling the children. Better to start now, he supposes. “Not for long. He needs the sleep.”

Winta giggles, offering a short _okay_ , and Din knows it’s a lost cause tonight. The child coos and smiles when she picks him up and whisks him away into the night.

Alone together again, he looks at Omera.

Omera shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to tell her to knock at least.”

“It’s okay.”

Omera’s eyes flicker to Din’s hands. “Are you?”

She has a good eye.

Din must’ve cracked his wrist when he helped Cara bring down the AT-ST. Or when they drew the raiding party out. He can’t be sure, it didn’t matter much with the adrenaline.

Every last bit of energy spent, it’s all catching up to him now: his tired body aches.

There’s a roll of gauze half unspooled on the floor, forgotten when Winta came to steal the kid away. Omera picks it up and looks at Din.

“I can do it myself,” Din says.

“I know.”

Still, Omera takes his hand slowly, as if she doesn’t want to spook him. Din lets her.

Gentle as her hands are, pain spikes in his wrist when she pulls the glove from his hand. 

“Sorry,” she says softly. She presses her fingers into the skin, already swollen and tender. Din doesn’t wince, he wouldn’t have been able to do this any easier. “It’s not broken. Just sprained. That’s good. 

“Winta broke her arm last winter.” Omera explains, making quick work of wrapping Din’s wrist up. “I had to reset it myself. She didn’t take the pain very well.”

“She’s very brave,” Din says. Winta had been in charge of keeping the other children safe while the adults protected the village that night. “Like her mother.”

Omera smiles, tying off the gauze. Her fingers, warm and calloused from years of hard work, stay covering his. 

“I wanted to thank you, Mandalorian. We couldn’t have done this without you.”

Din swallows. All of his focus is honed in on where their skin meets. He could make a joke—all they really needed were his weapons—but he doesn’t want to ruin this moment like the last time.

Omera looks up at him again when he doesn’t respond. Her hand traces his own, cradling it. She moves slowly, deliberately, so he can track her movements. Din can’t remember the last time he was touched without the intent of violence. 

Even with his helmet, Din feels she can see right through him as she comes closer. Din knows he could stop this if he wanted. He _should_ want to. He doesn’t.

His HUD warns him of a heat signature too close, touching. Omera strokes the beskar.

Then she moves closer.

His heart kicks in his chest. The HUD sounds off on this too.

She kisses the side of his helmet, Din only feeling the light pressure of her leaning against it. Din sighs, tilting his head into the touch. He fits his hand against hers, keeping it against his helmet. Omera pulls away, eyes never leaving the helmet’s visor; never leaving his eyes.

His injured hand pulses but he reaches up anyway, pressing the bare tips of his fingers to her cheek.

“It’s Din,” his voice cracks. “Din Djarin.”

Omera smiles at him.

“Din.” The sound of it echoes in his heart. “That’s a fine name. Do you dance, Din Djarin?”

His senses come back to him all at once.

“I don’t,” he says regretfully.

Omera smiles again, unwavering.

“I should get going. Watch the little ones. Make sure everyone is alright.”

Din nods. “Yes.” He clenches his fists. There’s no use reaching out for her hand now, not when it’ll make it that much harder to leave later.

Omera swoops down, landing another graceful kiss on the side of his helmet. Din blinks, once, twice, at a loss for words.

“Thank you again,” Omera says.

Din doesn’t join. He gets up and leans against the doorframe, content to watch Omera take Winta’s hand and lead her into the crowd. The kid watches them, mesmerized, with big brown eyes. It’s not long until he’s on the move, toddling over to Omera. She picks the child up and spins him around with Winta until he’s laughing.

Underneath the helmet, Din smiles.


	4. Chapter 4

“So.” Cara sips loudly at her spotchka.

“Don’t.”

Cara shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

“Don’t say anything.”

Cara grins.

By the ponds, the kid giggles. 

Winta throws a live krill onto the ground and he toddles after it happily, making the other children laugh. It’s their favorite game now.

Omera, taking a break from krill harvesting, is watching them too.

“I think it’s cute,” Cara says.

Din won’t deny it. Omera and Winta have taken to the kid well. And the kid likes it here. 

He pounces on the prawn, holding it up victoriously for Winta to see before eating it.

Din’s been thinking about just leaving without him. It’ll be better for him in the long run.

“Imagine just relaxing after a long day in the ponds: no bounties, no hunting, just watching the kids.” Cara lets that sit before adding slyly, “and that beautiful woman.”

Din turns his head towards Cara, slowly.

She laughs.

“You’re no fun.”

Din crosses his arms.

“You know I’m staying in the barn too, right?” Cara asks. “It’s kind of hard not to notice.”

“Maybe it just isn’t big enough for the two of us,” Din quips.

“Touché.” Cara raises her drink.

A child screams, then two, then more, and suddenly the whole village is on alert. 

Din is drawing his blaster before he realizes it’s Winta. 

She’s floating. 

Din blinks and for a moment he’s back on Arvala-7, watching the Mudhorn struggle midair in front of him. 

The kid laughs and waves his arms. Winta screams again as she goes up and down.

Cara grabs his arm.

“Put that away,” she hisses. “What the _kriff_ is he doing?”

Din runs out to the pond and scoops the kid up. He squeals with delight, but whatever he was doing stops. Winta lands on the ground with a thud. Din doesn’t stick around for recompense, just hauls the kid off to the edge of the village and deposits him behind the barn.

 _“No.”_ Din raises his finger. “We don’t do that here.”

“Ah?” The kid blinks up at him, the smile falling from his face.

“We don’t do that to friends,” Din says. The kid tilts his head, seeming to understand. “You could have hurt her.”

The child coos sadly and turns away, waddling towards the forest.

Din sighs and grabs him again.

“Don’t do that.”

The child resists.

“Hey, come on. You’re not exiling yourself.” The child wriggles against his arm unhappily. “You just need to be more careful. Remember what I said about laying low? That means not doing… that. Okay?”

The kid stops fussing as soon as Din puts him down.

“No forest,” Din tells him.

When he turns back around, Cara is there watching them.

“So.” Cara nods towards the child. “That the real reason you picked the farthest planet from the Core?”

“Among other things.”

“What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Din answers truthfully.

Omera comes up behind Cara.

“Is everything alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Din says. “Is Winta okay?”

“I am,” Winta says, eyeing the kid from behind Omera’s skirt.

The kid coos at her too, waving his arm. When she isn’t launched into the air again, a huge grin breaks across her face and she runs over to him, their little ordeal brushed off.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, sweeping him up into her arms. “I thought that was fun.”

“Come on,” Cara says once the kid is smiling again. “We should do some damage control.”

Din goes to follow Cara, but Omera touches his arm.

“May I speak with you a moment?”

Din hesitates.

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry,” Omera says, “we won’t let the others treat him any differently. He is welcome here.”

Din turns toward her.

“Do you know what he is?”

Omera shakes her head.

“I’ve never seen anything like him. He’s special.” She goes quiet, pensive, but if there’s more she wants to say, it’s only: “I’ll go make sure everything is alright.”

Din nods.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can bet Winta secretly lets Baby Yoda levitate her again! It's good Force practice :)


	5. Chapter 5

Cara nudges the body with her foot, pushing it over onto its back.

“An old friend of yours?”

“Small-time bounty hunter,” Din says, looking over the Kubaz. “Wouldn’t stick his neck out for much. Played it safe.”

He must’ve been trailing them; a couple of days at least, just to make sure Din’s guard was down. 

Din clenches his fists because _it was._

“So, what’s the plan now?” Cara asks.

  


* * *

  


“I’m glad you decided to stay the night,” Omera says, glancing across the room at the crates of Din’s meager personal effects, packed away. “It will be a long journey back.”

Din polishes the last of his blaster rifles harder, pausing to say “thank you” only when Omera sets his dinner at the table. 

She glances out the window.

“Is your boy okay?”

“Yes.” Din had seen to the kid after he and Cara took care of the body. He just looked up at Din, eyes wide and thoughtful as if he were studying him, before toddling back to Winta.

Omera looks at Din wistfully.

“I learned early on that I couldn’t protect Winta from everything either. Children have minds of their own, and the galaxy is rarely kind.”

Din sighs and puts the blaster rifle down. 

They take their respective places— Din to eat, Omera at the window to watch the village. She looks pensive as she stands guard, unusually quiet for what will be their last night together. He wonders if she’s thinking the same.

He watches her between bites of stewed krill, and if she’s noticed, she doesn’t let on. 

Cara’s words from before are on a constant loop, distant and unattainable: _Settle, beautiful young widow, raise your kids._

“You know we can’t stay,” Din says when the helmet is back on. “I have to take him with me. I know you could protect him, but you know my kind. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for a bounty like this. Trust me.”

Omera crosses the barn and settles next to Din. 

“I know.”

It’s hard to look back at her, but when has Din Djarin ever chosen the easy path? 

“I have a duty to my people,” Omera’s voice sounds strained, but she reaches out and grips Din’s hands. “Whatever it takes, I will protect them. No matter who they are.”

“I know.” It’s why they can’t stay. Who knows how many more bounty hunters will pass through looking for the kid? He’s taking a big enough risk as it is not leaving as soon as possible.

Omera rests her hand on the side of Din’s helmet. Din clenches his newly free hand, but Omera makes no move to remove it again.

“The choice is yours, Din. You already know mine. You and the boy will always be welcome here.”

She doesn’t push, and he doesn’t push her away when her lips meet the forehead of his helmet. 

It beeps and he exhales slowly. He already knows what she does to him. 

He brings his hand to the nape of Omera’s neck, tentative, careful not to tangle his fingers in her hair. She lets him guide her until her forehead rests against his.

He hasn’t done this for as long as he can remember, not since his days with _Death Watch_. If Omera can feel his hands shaking, she doesn’t comment, just grips his with hers tighter.

“Kov’nyn,” he whispers.

“A Mandalorian kiss.” Omera brushes her nose against the visor, never once letting her forehead leave his.

Din huffs, amused. He relaxes. Of course she knows.

“Yes.”

Maybe one day he can return and she’ll welcome him back with open arms.

He’d let her take the helmet off, and she’d be the first to see his face since he swore the Creed. He wonders if she’d like what she saw.

Tomorrow he’ll take the kid and they’ll leave Sorgan in the early hours of the morning.

For now, Din lets himself call it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're done! Hopefully you enjoyed this last little snippet, it's been a blast writing them. I'm so grateful to everyone who has commented, kudo'd, and read this fic as well, it means a lot to me that you liked it too, so thank you!


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